


The Reaction

by a_xmasmurder



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Friendship, Gen, John is actually really mean, Outtakes from 221B, The blooper reel, The video is really bad, Two Girls One Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete Crackfic. Not even supposed to be serious at all. Basically came up with this after 5 days of no sleep and too many games of Rummy with my girl. </p><p>Sherlock discovers "Two Girls One Cup".</p><p>I don't know if this has been done before. If it has, the other version is undoubtedly better.</p><p>Not beta'd or Britpicked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> One note: DO NOT LOOK UP "Two Girls One Cup" IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN IT.
> 
> Just...don't.

'Just one more drop.'  
  
One more should produce the exothermic reaction he was looking for. Sherlock peered through his safety glasses (annoying, but a necessary precaution - not to mention a  _smart one_ ) at the chemicals brewing in the glass Erlenmeyer flask.   
  
'One more...'   
  
He dipped his pipette into the smaller, neck-less flask on his right and drew a small amount of the (fairly) inert clear solution into it. Moving slowly, he positioned the tip of the pipette over the open mouth of the Erlenmeyer flask ( _careful, now! This is a very important step; a man's alibi depends on the results!_ ) in front of him. His thumb pressed down on the plunger  _slowly..._  
  
  "Mr. Holmes? MR. HOLMES!"  
  
Sherlock had been so engrossed that he startled a slight bit. That was enough to make his hand twitch, and it was enough to send a  _bit_  more than a single drop of the (fairly) inert clear solution into the chemical soup. In the nanosecond ( _a nanosecond is 11.8 inches in length_ ) that his brain spared to register the error, his body was already in action, dropping down to the lino of the kitchen floor. He belatedly shouted "GET DOWN" to whomever had upset his concentration and - oh, yes, there's the hissing and popping now, thank you very much! - set this experiment ( _could it be as such anymore, or would it be a disaster now?_ ) down a hill of prickles and thorns...The detective mustered enough courage to peek over the edge of the table...oh, the mess,  _the mess_! This will be hell to clean up. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste. Tomorrow. Meanwhile, he began muttering to himself quietly, his brain already deeming the table a lost cause. 'The boyfriend most likely had a hand in the murder-suicide, of course. There was no possible way that an otherwise amicable man with a rather nervous disposition could do this by himself; factoring in the hand tremor and the lack of knowledge about chemicals  cemented it. There would be no chance that the man could create the exact chemical reaction needed for the bomb to work, especially if he knew that he would die with the woman. Also considering that the boyfriend would benefit greatly from their deaths, receiving life insurance funds from  _both_ the man and his wife as indicated from the wills, not to mention that the boyfriend was in financial problems because of his gambling (indicated by the fingernails on his left hand [ _rubbings from the scratch-offs and ink from the tickets bought with the trust money set up by his late father who worked at the Treasury_ ] and the tic in his right eye [ _brought on by stress over his situation, didn't want to bring it into the open, definitely not to both of his lovers at the same time, he was very much in the hole_ ])...of course. Of course! The third member of the polygamous relationship, Adam Harris, also happened to be a chemist at St. Bart's...brilliant! Oh, he was on FIRE tonight! Three hot cases solved in twelve hours, all with the application of genius and chemical science!   
  
  "It's too bad about that table, though, Mr. Holmes."  
  
What? Oh. Sherlock glared at the young man currently at an ninety degree angle to him, in much the same position as he (though you could only see the top of his shaggy brown hair and his eyebrows through the haze left by the reaction).  
  
  "Table, indeed. You do realize, Wiggins, that you are the sole cause of this disaster. Therefore, you will be the one to answer to Dr. Watson. This is completely your fault."  
  
Wiggins nodded sagely. "That ah do, Mr. Holmes, that ah do. Didn' mean ta disturb you, but me friends 'n' me - "  
  
  "Do use the Queen's English, please, you hooligan, lest you destroy what little intelligence you possess."  
  
  " - me friends 'n' I were at Mrs. Hudson's - she said we could use her computer - "  
  
 Sherlock perked up. "Mrs. Hudson has a computer?" He sat back on his heels. ' When did she purchase a computer - no, when did she  _get_  a computer, she couldn't have bought one, I would have noticed something of that magnitude passing the doorway. It's not like John buys something that big every day on his shopping runs...' His brain headed off on seven different lines of inquiry ( _the seventh can be discounted as dubious, as it mainly pertained to Mrs. Hudson actually going out to buy it and having it delivered when he was off on a case, and she wouldn't do that, she'd want to show it off to him and ask him how to use it, hell she just figured out how to use the mobile phone that Mycroft had bought her three months ago [no doubt to keep tabs on him by pestering her, the pompous git] to_ call _some random friend of hers_ ), none of them really making sense to him...well...maybe...  
  
  "- and we was -"  
  
  "'Were', Wiggins, 'were'."  
  
  " - and we were on this website - "  
  
Sherlock felt a sudden urge to slap his forehead. "Dear God, I'm going to have to debug and clean her hard drive, aren't I? Tedious." 'Dear GOD.'  
  
  "There's this video ya just HAVE ta see, Mr. Holmes!" Wiggins finally finished. His grin grew in wattage. Sherlock heaved out a very put-upon sigh and closed his eyes. 'Save me from the well-meaning and insipid populace.'  
  
  "Must I?"  
  
  "Of course ya do, Mr. Holmes!"  
  
The detective let out another sigh, this one accompanied by a groan of anguish. "Fine, FINE. I will only do this because if I don't you will never cease pestering me." He pinched the bridge of his nose as Wiggins let out a squeal of glee.  
  
  "Great! We'll be over in a few!" Just as he appeared, the young man disappeared, leaving Sherlock on the kitchen floor surrounded by the slowly dissipating smoke cloud. He blinked rapidly.  
  
'Her newest male friend Tobias must have bought her the computer. He has money and would like her to stick around long enough to be impressed by him - will never happen, she has better taste than that man, I know this for a fact. His last gift to her had been a pair of diamond drop earrings - she has yet to wear them, which means she has no real feelings for the man. I'll have to text Lestrade about the results of the experiment and Harris. He should be pleased, at least enough to lessen the blow of his wife continuing her liaison with the pool boy ( _really, a boy, no older than nineteen judging by his shoes and the cut of his hair_ ) and starting a new one with the shopkeeper near Speedy's ( _forty-three, stress balding, two small dogs, a fish, a small flat out in Norbury, and a very small car that breaks down every other week because of the radiator itself, not the hose as he is prone to believing..._ )  
  
Sherlock was not sure just how long he had been sitting on the floor (at least a half hour), but he was roused from his musings about a cold case from fifteen years ago and the growth of the slime mold that he was cultivating in the crisper by John's heavy tread on the stairs leading to 221B (rough day at the clinic, still upset about his tea spilling all over his work desk, couldn't be bothered to do much about the carpet anymore, possible pain).  
  
Oh, the table.  
  
On cue, John Watson halted in the kitchen doorway, face screwed into a conglomeration of awe, disbelief, anger, and sullen resignation. "Sherlock, wh- hold on. What? What in the name of all that is holy and good in this godforsaken _world_ have you done to the table? What  _happened_?"  
  
Sherlock looked up at his flatmate ( _colleague friend flatmate assistant all of the above, thank you_ ) and tried on a glare. It didn't quite congeal.  
  
  "Wiggins, John. Wiggins happened."  
  
  
  
Three hours pass. The tall consulting detective found himself perched Indian-style on the one chair in the entire universe that did not make his coccyx feel as though it traveled five inches into his spine. John's laptop (there was no way in HELL he was going to use his own for this...whatever it was) lay on his folded legs, open and powering up. Wiggins, Chadwick, Taylor and Marixa crowded behind him. John had settled down into his chair with the Union Jack pillow tucked up against his aching lower back (definitely a bad day at the clinic; had to subdue a 190.5 cm, twenty-three stone man utterly destroyed on phencyclidine by himself, not an easy task for anyone, but John obviously was able to. He will need one of his pain pills and a heating pad tonight or there will be no point trying to sleep), and the man looked...delighted. Oh God.  
  
Not for the first time, Sherlock wondered what he had done to land himself in this horrid position, and what, precisely, he was doing. His fingers flew over the keys, typing in the web address given to him by Chadwick.  
  
  "Yeah, Mr. Holmes, that's it. That's the page." Marixa murmured with a glint in her honey eyes.  
  
Sherlock was hardly impressed. The video page was exactly what it said on the tin: a page with one video player. The page itself was decorated tastefully, even if it was different shades of pink. Dull, really. He glanced at John again; the older man was chuckling and shaking his down-turned head.  
  
  "What is so funny, John?"  
  
The ex-army doctor looked up and grinned - honest to goodness  _grinned_! "Oh, Sherlock, I know what you are about to watch."  
  
  "Do you?"   
  
  "I was in the military, Sherlock. I've seen it."  
  
  "And?" Sherlock was actually intrigued enough to want to hear about John's experience; it must be a good memory, at least.  
  
John only shook his head again. "No, Sherlock. I'm not giving anything away. All I'm going to tell you is this: I will give you the same ultimatum that we gave our mates - once you click the play button, you  _have_  to watch it all the way through. No pausing, no looking away. Got it?"  
  
Now Sherlock was starting to get nervous - why? Why was he getting nervous, it's just a video for Christ's sake! "Of course. I was going to anyway."  
  
  "Good." Now John was nearing the point that he would break into hysterical giggles at any second. "If you manage it, I will buy you anything you want. ANYTHING."  
  
  "Anything." Dear God.  
  
  "Yes. Anything. Think about this."  
  
He was. He was thinking about it. "I just want to get this over with so I can go back to my experiments, John. Can we get on with it?"  
  
  "At your leisure, Mr. Holmes." Wiggins' laughter was not much of a reassurance.  
  
Sherlock drew in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "Very well."  
  
He looked back down to the website and clicked 'Play'.  
  
It started out harmless enough. MFX-1209 in yellow 'military' lettering faded out to two women, one dark skinned and one light skinned, snogging. Well, the dark one was snogging the light one's breasts, but that counted, ri -   
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
OH!  
  
What in God's name? What th-  
  
Oh, GOD. Oh my God no. NO. Nonono-  
  
OhGOD. Is she actually- yes. Yes she did, oh God  
  
They are kissing wi- what? WHAT? No, oh no no no oh GOD...  
  
What. The. Hell.  
  
What the actual- what did I just watch? What was that?  
  
Oh good merciful GOD.  
  
  
  
  
Sherlock came out of his state of shock when John finally collapsed in a fit of hysterical laughter. "Your face! Oh, merciful sodding CHRIST, your face, Sherlock!" The younger men and woman were laughing even harder. Sherlock only blinked. That was all that his brain could tell his body to do at the moment. He couldn't even tell if he was breathing. He was still staring at the now black video box. 'What in God's name did I just watch? That couldn't be- no, that couldn't actually be...arousing? To someone? Did someone actually find that...oh GOD. Oh hell no. HELL NO.'  
  
  "What the hell did I just watch? John? JOHN. What did I just do? What was that?" He realized that he was speaking, but he couldn't stop. "Those women...there was...they were kissing...with...but...That can't be right. Can it? Could someone actually be attracted to...what was that? What is it, John? What the _FUCK_ did I just _WATCH, JOHN?"_ He exited the browser, shut the laptop, set it on the coffee table, and stood up. "JOHN HAMISH WATSON, will you please explain to me  what the appeal of that horrid, disgusting...oh God. Oh God Almighty what did I just see?" He was reaching hysterics himself. John had slid out of his chair and was on the floor, howling with laughter. "John. John. JOHN. Do people actually- oh God- do people find that sort of...whatever the hell that was...sexually exciting? John? Are you breathing? Are you alive? Speak to me, tell me, I don't understand?"  
  
John finally calmed down enough to pick himself off the carpet. He looked up at the consulting detective with tears of mirth in his bright blue eyes. "That-" a gasp of air "was what is called 'scat' porn. That is actually a trailer to a porn video. So to answer your question, yes. Yes, some people do find that sort of thing...arousing." He giggled again. "Apparently, you don't."  
  "Wh- No. GOD NO. I don't even know what that was. I'm not even sure that what I saw was actually real! Was that actually...fecal matter?"  
  
  "Yes."  
  
  "Oh God."  
  
That sent John to the floor again. Sherlock had enough dignity to look completely discomfited. "John, this isn't funny."  
  
  "Oh, fuck, yeah it is."  
  
  "No, John, it isn't. That is horrifying. Absolutely and truly horrifying." Then Sherlock froze. "YOU have seen this?"  
  
  "Yeah." John paused in his laughter, fighting to get his breath back (possible broken or cracked rib, he looks like he might be in pain- OH THANK GOD MY BRAIN ISN'T BROKEN). "My mates subjected me to this on a really bad night on base. I don't think I was able to sleep for a week after that."  
  
By this time, Wiggins and gang had disappeared again. "John. Why did you do that to me?"  
  
  "Because I needed a good laugh tonight."  
  
  "Well, you are despicable."  
  
John started laughing again.  
  
  "A horrid human being."  
  
More laughter.  
  
  "I shall never entrust my well-being to you ever again."  
  
John was now on his back. Still laughing.  
  
  "I hope you had fun mocking me."  
  
  "I did."  
  
  "I hate you."  
  
  "No you don't, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock threw a throw pillow at John's face. "You are horrible!"  
  
  "Email this to Lestrade?"  
  
Sherlock halted. His eyes finally narrowed down from their wide shocked state. A smirk landed on his lips. "Oh, God yes."


End file.
